Apostates on the Run
by Nameless She
Summary: Anders never expected to see Marian Hawke again, then again, he never expected she'd need him to save her life. After the events of Dragon Age 2. Anders pov.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I do not own any of the characters, the world, anything in this fandom. It all belongs to the good people at Bioware.

Anders took a long, deep breath before he sent the lightning bolt zigzagging through the crowd of Templars. Hawke was outnumbered, alone, and no matter what she'd told him the last time they spoke, he couldn't let her face down those kinds of odds alone. Six Templars to one mage? Justice raged to even the odds and Anders was inclined to agree for once.

He couldn't help the way his heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her.

The first time he saw her, he thought she was a Grey Warden. She wore the Warden Commander's smirk; Amell's face ghosted over the stranger's in a way that left him both breathless and chilled with fear. Wardens be damned but he was never going back. They demanded too much in return for too little.

He missed Sir Pounce-a-lot.

But the strange woman wasn't the Warden Commander. She wasn't Solona Amell. Marian Hawke wasn't one to give him hope only to snatch it away. She followed her promises to the letter. So when she looked at him in the firelight of the ruined Chantry, with the wrath of Starkhaven mounting behind her, he knew she meant it when she told him to run.

With Justice still screaming for blood, he ran. He made it as far the Docks before he couldn't run any longer. This was his fight and she was fighting it for him. He'd seen what she was up against long before she accepted it. Whether she liked it or not, whether it was right or just a foolish dream, he had to help her.

When he found her in the Gallows, bloodied and gasping for breath, she didn't turn him away. The Templars weren't just killing mages. Everyone who had sheltered the Champion, everyone she'd helped, everyone they thought might have something to do with this, was suspect.

"For now, we are allies," she said, "But once I've sorted out this mess, I never want to see your face again, Anders."

Of course, she meant it. How could she not? No one else would look at him, the apostate, the abomination, the murderer. Even Varric looked away, and he was a man who could find the good in anyone. Not that Anders could blame him.

Orsino, a blood mage. Meredith, corrupted by the lyrium idol. When the battle ended, Cullen, of all people, was the last voice of reason. He looked the other way while the Champion led them out of Kirkwall. Even Anders was allowed to leave, to join them on Isabela's ship until they could find a safe port. It was then the weight of his actions hit him.

Hawke was lost to him. She wouldn't even grant him the death Justice craved. As it was, she'd barely let him touch her to heal her. If Merrill knew anything about creation magic, she would have turned to her instead. Regret is a bitter pill to swallow and he'd been swallowing it for six months now.

The last time he saw Marian Hawke, she was bound for greener pastures. They separated in Antiva. The last he heard of her she and Isabela had teamed up with some bird slaughtering golem, a Fereldan spirit healer, and an Antivan assassin with more cock than brains. There had been rumors Hawke was headed to Tevinter, others said she'd been killed on her way to Orlais.

Whatever the truth was, he never expected to find her alone and outnumbered, battling a band vigilante Templars and losing. Her trusty mabari lay in a heap nearby, unconscious but alive. From the looks of it, he'd taken a good blow to the head; with luck he'd be shaking it off in a second, rounding on the worst of Marian's attackers before they knew what hit them.

Anders couldn't wait for him to recover. Marian was weakening. She leaned heavily on her staff while her free hand pressed to a wound at her side. Blood oozed between her fingers as Anders made his decision.


	2. Chapter 2

He arced a bolt of lightning in to the heart of the battle. The Templars spasmed and twitched under the assault while Hawke dropped her staff to down what was probably her last mana potion. It wouldn't take much to finish them off; he'd always wondered why Templars insisted on wearing the heaviest metal armor when half the mages in the world could shock their brains out with a little electrical storm.

Hawke's fingertips lit up with flame and she scorched them into oblivion. Only when the last one fell did she allow herself to check on her dog. The mabari shuddered, a second later, blinking his way back to consciousness. When he looked at Marian, his gaze shifted past her to Anders. His tail thumped the dirt.

Blood still oozed through Hawke's fingers.

"Let me help," he said, crossing the distance.

She finally looked at him. He'd seen that look before, a hundred times before, but only twice had it been directed his way. Once in the light of the smoldering Chantry ruins and once in the Gallows. He stopped short.

"I told you I didn't want to see you again," she said.

"I'm sorry. Next time I'll stand back and let them cut your head off, I didn't know you were committing suicide."

Before she could protest, he sent a wave of healing magic her way. The flow of blood slowed as he felt the skin and muscle knit back together. A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. Her cheeks flushed.

"You want a thank you? Fine, here's your thank you," she said.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead already?" he asked, sending another wave toward the still whimpering dog.

Marian dusted herself off as she retrieved her staff.

"Depends on who you're talking to I guess. If people want to think I'm dead, why burst their bubble?"

"Clever," he said, "How's Isabela? Last I heard the two of you were thick as thieves."

"She's the thief. I was just along for the ride. Jealousy doesn't suit you, Anders."

"Who said anything about jealousy? I'm just making awkward small talk. Isn't that required after you save your ex from a band of blood thirsty Templars?"

She snorted, giving him the side eye. Alright, she had him there. He had been a little jealous. The tales he'd heard had been...colorful at best. Isabela was hard to resist. Scratch that. She was impossible to resist. Her perfect breast alone was enough to inspire countless sonnets and dirty limericks. He shouldn't blame Marian for exploring something as wondrous and rare as the Riviani pirate queen. He'd be a liar if he said he wouldn't have paid good coin to see it first hand.

Hawke set about collecting her belongings. At some point, her pack had been upended; a few potions, knives, random odds and ends, and clothing had been scattered and in some cases ground into a fine powder into the dust. Her elfroot supply was useless.

"You're not heading North," she said.

The statement caught him by surprise. He hadn't decided where he was headed, but North had been a distinct possibility. He gave her a smile she refused to acknowledge.

"I could be heading North," he said, "Here's a thought. We could travel North together. I hear Tevinter is lovely this time of year."

Her shoulders tensed but she didn't respond. Dog, on the other hand, barked happily and bounded around Ander's begging for pets. Marian must not have had time to explain to him that Anders was a bad, rude man and not to be tolerated. He forced himself to pat the dog on the head.

Did he mention he missed Sir Pounce-a-lot and his aloof indifference? Somewhere inside, Justice agreed, though Anders wondered if it had more to do with the woman they'd left the cat with than the actual cat. It still unnerved him to have bits of the dead Grey Warden Kristoff floating through his mind.

Still Aura didn't compare to Marian Hawke.

"I'm going North alone," Marian said, "You're going somewhere else."

"That's news to me," he said.

"Don't push me, Anders. I swear to Andraste I'll-"

"Ravish me? Have your way with my beautiful, supple body? Spank me? Marian Hawke, you are a naughty, naughty girl."

He ignored Justice's irritation pricking at his mind. He was tired of brooding, of being alone, of being hunted. He was tired of the constant struggle and the memories of everything he'd done wrong. Yes, he'd been wrong to lie to the love of his life. Yes, he'd been wrong to murder innocent people. Yes, he'd been wrong to merge with Justice in the first place and ultimately twist his friend into a mockery of his true self. But just once, he'd like to forget it and be the man he used to be.

He wanted to be wanton and happy, to lose himself in the arms of the woman he loved. That wasn't such a bad thing, was it? She was here. He was here. They were together against all odds. He didn't see Marian's fist until it was firmly planted in his nose. The force sent him stumbling back, blood gushing down his face.

"You are not going North," she repeated.

She turned to Dog while Anders struggled to regain his composure and clear the unmanly tears from his eyes. For a mage, she packed quite a punch. He felt shades of Carver in that hit. Shades of Aveline. Shades of Warden Commander Amell. He felt a strange sense of approval coming from Justice of all non-people.

"Maybe I deserved that," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose to stem the flow.

He could have healed it with a flick of his wrist, but he couldn't just yet. He got an oddly perverse sense of-of pleasure knowing it came from her. What kind of sick bastard found joy in being punched in the face?

"Go away."

"Not a chance, sweetheart," he said, "Not after all that. You nearly got yourself killed."

Dog barked in agreement. Marian gave him the same look she'd given Anders before she'd flattened his nose.

"Don't you start with me," she said, "He's the reason we're in this mess. He's the reason you haven't had roast duck in months."

Dog stopped, head tilting to the side, eyes narrowing as he looked at Anders. A harsh sound, not quite a growl, not quite a bark erupted from him, and Anders wondered if he was going to have to find a nice, big tree to climb very quickly.

"Who needs roast duck?" Anders asked, "Rabbit is twice as tasty."

Dog was unimpressed. He huffed and turned his nose up. So much for getting man's best friend on his side. Rabbit really couldn't compete with roast duck. Orana's roast duck made the Divine weep with ecstasy. He could feel his mouth water at just the thought of it. No wonder the poor mutt was conflicted.

"Alright, that was a lousy comparison," he said, "I admit it. I'm no good. I'm bad. I've screwed up in ways most people can't even begin to dream of but do you really want to travel alone after that?You do know they're are more Templars the next town over, more than six I might add, and when your friends don't report back in a few hours they're going to come riding out in full force."

Marian snorted again, quickening her pace.

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" Anders asked, "Maybe not, but I do know a certain handsome young mage responsible for the destruction of the Kirkwall's Chantry has been spotted in the area. I know he may or may not have a group of assassins from Starkhaven hot on his trail and they would be drooling right about now at the thought of bringing in the Champion of Kirkwall. Your bounty's a bit higher than mine."

She stopped short as he knew she would. He could see her fist tighten around her staff until her knuckles were white. Part of it was true. He had been spotted in the area, by an old woman who thought he was her dead brother and a merchant trying to sell torn trousers and cracked opals of all things. But as far as he knew he didn't have Starkhaven's assassins on his trail yet. No doubt Sebastian would want to mete out his own justice instead of sending someone else to do it for him.

What Hawke didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Justice disagreed. Justice disapproved. But after everything, Justice owed him one. This was his one.

"Fine," Marian said, her lips thinned to a thin line when she turned to look at him, "You can come with me for now, but I'm not sleeping with you. We're not friends. I don't trust you. You're not forgiven."

He backed up, the force of her words cutting through him better than any weapon. She was right. Of course she was right, and he didn't deserve any better than this. The joke he'd been about to make died on his lips.

"I understand," he said.

"Good," she said, "Once we're relatively safe, you're on your own. That's final, so don't even think about changing my mind. It's made up."

He watched her pull ahead of him, her hips swaying. She hadn't changed much; she was still maddening, still beautiful, still headstrong-he longed to go back to the way they were before, to a time he could kiss her deep and hard the way he wanted to kiss her.

He had a sneaking suspicion any attempt would be met with a hard knee to the groin, but the months without her had been enough to drive him a little bit mad. The thought of leaving her again-it twisted in his gut like a knife. He couldn't do that again. He couldn't lose her.

Marian Hawke couldn't stay mad at him forever.

Could she?


	3. Chapter 3

Two nights later, Anders decided Marian Hawke quite easily could stay mad at him forever. She'd grunted in response to a few of his questions, glared at his many attempts to lighten the mood with his usual wit and charm, and after scorching a few unlucky bandits to oblivion, he'd thought better of asking her if she'd like to sleep a little bit closer to him to chase away the chill of the night air.

Anders liked his dangly bits firmly attached to his body.

Still the sight of her curled up alone and shivering in her bedroll was enough to embolden even the meekest of men.

"Marian, are you asleep?"

Dog pricked his ears from his place at his mistress' feet.

"I was trying," she said.

A three word response was better than an unintelligible grunt, he decided.

"I'm sorry," he said, "You just look really cold I was thinking-"

"That's where you went wrong," she said, but she didn't sound as angry as she had the last time he'd tried to coax a response out of her.

"I was going to suggest we sort of huddle together, use our combined body heat to take the edge off," he said, "But I can see now what a terrible idea it is. Wouldn't want you to thaw out or anything."

For a second he'd wished he'd kept his big mouth shut. Accusing someone of being a frigid ice queen isn't exactly the best way to warm their heart, but he was shivering just as much as she was. His brain didn't function as well when frozen.

To his surprise, she didn't hit him with an ice spell. She rolled over and looked at him, her face unreadable.

"I hate you," she said.

"Really? I never would have guessed."

She sighed and the unreadable mask cracked. She looked tired. She looked like she did the day he'd asked her to help him find Sela Petrae and Drakestone. When she looked at him, doubt in her eyes, and he'd said if she loved him she'd do this for him. It had been the wrong thing to say, but it had worked. And now here they were.

"Fine," she said, "We can huddle. But nothing more than that. This doesn't mean anything."

Was he imagining it or did she sound a lot less than sure of herself? He felt his chest tighten. He fought back a smile as he stretched and stood. Her bedroll was big enough for two, but it was going to be snug.

He could handle snug, he thought, until he climbed in behind her. Pressed up against those delicious curves, his arm sliding around her waist, awkwardly brushing the undersides of her breasts-he tried to take a deep breath and will all the blood to stop rushing to his lower, favorite extremity. But it was proving to be more difficult than he had thought. She felt and smelled as good as he remembered.

She was Marian.

His Marian.

Maker's breath, he'd screwed things up. He lay beside her in silence. He didn't know when he finally drifted to sleep, but when consciousness returned, he felt warm breath on his face and felt the weight of an arm draped around his waist. His own arm had shifted in the night, and his hand was pleasantly cupped around the firm curve of Marian's rounded ass.

He must be dreaming. He gave it a firm squeeze just to be sure. The gasp and resounding chest punch that followed was enough to convince him it wasn't a dream. He opened his eyes to Marian scrambling out of the warm cocoon, her cheeks an angry red.

Dog gave a disapproving grunt.

"Sorry. I forgot myself for a minute."

She didn't respond as she disappeared into the trees, her staff left resting on the ground beside her bedroll. It was a fine staff. He remembered how much they'd spent to procure it from Magus Tavarain Hall; the weasel had shut down all attempts to haggle, the price firmly set.

In all his life, Anders had never seen that many gold sovereigns. Spending them all on a mage staff has seemed silly at the time, but the enchantments that had been placed on it had been the difference between life and death a dozen times over. Cold-Blooded had essentially paid for itself.

He ran a finger along the surface. The hum of magic thrummed along his skin, and Dog whined.

"I know I know," Anders said, "Look, don't touch. She'd have a fit if she saw my grubby abomination hands defiling it, we just won't tell her."

Dog growled. For a moment, Anders thought he was about to get his throat ripped out, but as he pulled his hand back and glanced over his shoulder at the canine, he knew he'd misjudged the situation. Dog wasn't growling at him. He wasn't even looking his way.

An arrow zipped past his face, the tip nicking his cheek. He felt his blood well along the scratch and trickle down his skin. Dog tensed. Whomever stood at the edge of the clearing, just out of sight, was going to get one hell of a greeting when he stepped out into the light.

But before Dog could strike, a pouch of something fell at his feet. A cloud of smoke exploded, leaving the beast stunned. He collapsed in a heap.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, Abomination."

Anders' heart dropped into his stomach. He knew that voice. The cold, almost melodic lilt, the clipped, curt tone, the all too familiar Starkhaven accent-Justice struggled against him, fighting for control as the man in question stepped out of the shadows, bow drawn, arrow knocked and pointed at Anders' heart.

"Sebastian Vael," Anders said.

The prince of Starkhaven smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

"You remember me," Sebastian said, "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten the promise I made to dear Hawke. Is she here?"

The sound of Hawke's name on his lips made his blood run cold. This was barely Sebastian Vael, rather, it was a shell, a cruel mockery. There was nothing of compassion or mercy in his eyes, only the thirst for vengeance, and that was a thirst Anders knew all too well.

"She isn't here," Anders said, his voice too loud.

"Is that not her staff then? And her faithful Mabari?" Sebastian countered, a grin curving across his face, "Would she leave her pet alone with you knowing I would come? I think not. I think you're hoping to buy her enough time to save you. Well, Abomination, nothing can save you now. All must be judged, and when you stand before the Maker, you will know the price of your sins."

"You're wrong."

"Say that again."

The taut bowstring quivered.

"I said you're wrong," Anders said, "I already know the price of my sins. I don't need the Maker or you to spell it out for me."

Anger danced in Sebastian's eyes. How had he found them? For months and months, there had been no sign. There had only been a never ending stream of Templars. Why now? Why here when things were beginning to feel better? Why so soon after he found her again?

"I think Hawke should see this," Sebastian said, "She should witness the consequences first hand. The Maker hasn't forgotten her part in all of this."

It was all he could do to hold Justice back; he could feel the fade spirit twisting inside him, the rage, the denial. Marian was blameless in all this. He'd lied to keep her innocent. He'd blackmailed her into helping him because he knew he couldn't let this darkness touch her.

"She didn't know," he said, "I swear I never told her."

"Oh I believe you," Sebastian said.

"Then why? Of what sin is she guilty?"

Again that sick smile curved up.

"She knew what needed to be done and she turned her back on duty to let you run free. You are a monster and you murdered a kind and virtuous woman. There were none better than Elthina-"

"And you think Vengeance is the answer?"

"Not Vengeance. Justice. I will not wait while you spew your poison."

The bowstring tightened, Sebastian's fingers twitched. Dog was still dazed. By Anders guess, they still had a few minutes before the beast recovered. Varric had used tricks like that to stun bandits, said it never failed, and he was right.

"Do it already," Anders said, "What are you waiting for?"

He prayed to whatever god would still hear him for Marian not to walk back into the clearing. Not now. Not in time for this. There was no doubt in his mind Sebastian had the same kind of vengeance planned for her. The destruction of the chantry had cost the man his sanity, and again, Anders knew he was to blame.

For all their disagreements, Sebastian Vael had been a good man. Even now, poised as he was to punish Anders for his crimes, even now he was still serving the Maker he so revered. He only hoped he'd show some kind of mercy to Marian. She didn't deserve to die for his sins.

He shut his eyes as Sebastian let the arrow fly, waiting for the pain to blossom in his chest and blackness to claim him. But a second passed and nothing happened. Another second. He cracked open an eye.

Both the arrow and Sebastian were trapped in a block of ice.

"Don't just sit there," Marian shouted as she burst into the clearing, "He's already starting to thaw."

She paused just long enough to retrieve her staff before she darted to Dog's side to rouse him. Anders let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding and felt for his heart beat. Yes, still there. He stood, his knees shaking.

"You saved me," he said.

"I saved us," Marian said, "Don't make me regret it. Again."

They stuffed everything they could back into their packs and rolled up her bedroll and his pallet. All the while, Sebastian stood trapped, the arrow hovering before him. He'd come too close. Next time, Anders wondered if he'd be so lucky.

Marian had saved his life. She could have let him die. She could have been done with him forever, but for the second time, she turned on Sebastian to protect him. It could have been to save her own skin, but Anders was starting to suspect she didn't hate him as much as she claimed. Once they were a safe distance away, if she didn't punch him in the face again, he'd have to properly thank her.


End file.
